


The Kraken's Curse

by Attaining



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Monsters, No Tentacle Sex, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Starks stay in the North, Torture, surprisingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 04:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16569740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/pseuds/Attaining
Summary: Slightly late Halloween fic!Balon Greyjoy sold his youngest son’s soul to win his rebellion, not knowing it was all a trick by the wily and power hungry Bolton family. Alannys sees an opportunity to save her son from The Kraken’s Curse, and sends him to Winterfell far from the ocean, for when Theon turns seven and ten, he will become a sea monster so grotesque that no man could stand to look upon him.Years later, Theon and Robb are sent to White Harbor by the sea and nothing goes according to plan.(Aka the tentacle monster Throbb/Thramsay fic no one asked for. Set more or less start of series.)





	The Kraken's Curse

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be my Halloween fic, but as with most of my fics, it got away from me and turned into its OWN monster. Inspired by Fruits Basket, because Theon is Kyo and Kyo is Theon (not a crossover fic tho so no need to be familiar). 
> 
> Let’s pretend White Harbor is located at bit more down the river so it’s at the Bite. Ages fudged a bit. More or less book canon.
> 
> ENJOY?! Thanks for reading.

His father claimed the Drowned God came to him and told him now was the time to rebel, to make himself a king and free their lands from their conquerors in Westeros. A foreign king who gave them nothing, who called them savages and swatted down their raids on the shores. They took back their salt wives and thralls and killed their men. No more, his father said to him as they laid him on the beach, tied to posts at hand and foot. Balon Greyjoy sold his softest son’s soul for the courage to sack the shores, the swiftest ships to set alight the Lannister fleet. Theon’s sacrifice would make his father a King, his mother told him as she brushed the hair from his eyes and kissed the tears from his cheeks. It’s your damn duty to the family, his father said, stop whimpering and take this as a man. He stared coldly down at his son, the little one who was more like to take after the Reader than himself.

But Theon knew when the creature came to him in his dreams, pale eyes leaking oil and ink into the sea, that this was no god. It was some sort of sea demon, a trickster who took a piece of Theon’s soul and replaced it with a cursed shell. He would have to wear its sister piece always, to prevent the darkness in him from spilling out when he turned seven and ten. Its sharp, pointy teeth grew bigger and bigger with its smile as it told Theon, “It needs time grow in you. One day there will be no need to hide what’s inside you, for you will give yourself to it.” 

He faced it as bravely as he could, accepting as the monster cut open his chest and sewed something inside him. There was no pain, but it left a dark mark on his heart. Theon knew he could never be like the ironborn, nor like the greenlanders he would come to know. He didn’t fit in anywhere, now more than ever. “You belong to the depths now, boy.”

He was a freak, a monster. But he did it for his people and to make his father proud. Even Maron and Rod gave him a nod of approval. Asha told him he was an idiot to accept and hugged him after. His mother cried and when they were alone, he cried with her. They all knew, though, if Balon wanted something… well, it was easier just to let him have it.

“All the sin and folly of your family will fill you up and leak out. They’ll cast you out by the sight and smell of you, but I’ll have a home for you,” the creature whispered in his ear, lovingly, tentacles reaching out...

Theon woke up gasping. Robb snored loudly beside him in the inn they booked. Lord Stark sent them to White Harbor for Robb to conduct his first business on behalf of the family, collecting taxes from the Manderlys. As the richest of the Houses in the North, the bulk of Winterfell’s wealth and stores came from fat Wyman. They were invited to stay in the castle, but Robb felt collecting taxes was imposition enough on the lord, something that earned him a hearty laugh and a glint of respect in the man’s eye. 

He rubbed his face with both hands, hoping to feel real and awake. It was that dream again, of being tied to the beach and the tide drowning him. But this time, when he woke reborn from the sea, he was a monster. Tentacles shot from his waist, black and gold, but smelling of rot and fish. He had no legs, just wet, squirming arms that twisted and turned as if they had minds of their own. Somehow he could tell they were  _ strong _ and they lifted him easily. His nails, usually short but well kept, were more like claws that speared fish as they swam by. His eyes were gold and large, his beard and hair more tentacles and his teeth could rend flesh. His velvets and silks were rags, torn apart by his hideous change. Old Nan had dreamed of creatures like him. Theon slipped from the bed and looked at the harbor. Dawn was just about to rise. His nameday had passed, he was now seven and ten. He rubbed the shell he wore at his wrist. 

_ Stay far from the sea, my love, and you will be safe,  _ his mother whispered in his ear as Ned Stark bore him away from his home.  _ Take this conch and guard it safe. When you lift it to your ear, you’ll hear me singing to you. _

He did keep his conch, but he heard only the distant sea. His mother had gone mad, they told him. His sister was his father’s true heir after his brothers’ blood met the rocks. Everything that happened that day seemed so far from his mind, some Drowned Man’s odd jape. He had been normal, in Winterfell, as normal as a savage from the Iron Islands raised by wolves could be. He was no Stark, no, but he could never go back home. They lost the rebellion, a false promise, and instead of having him slain by Robert Baratheon, Balon could keep his lordship if Theon was a hostage. Balon had cursed the demon and thought to keep his prize from him in revenge. In turn, Theon tried to keep everyone else away, so no one could see that he was cursed. 

He learned to be like his brothers, proud and chasing women and smiling at everything. Nothing could touch him, the smiling ward of Winterfell. Everything was a jape. He could not let them see, the Northerners, who lived in a castle that dwarfed Pyke in its glory. They said Northerners were hard people, but they had never been to the Iron Islands.  _ Trees  _ don’t even grow on the Islands. Their problems were almost funny. Jon Snow, the pouting bastard, who got to be raised a lord instead of some whore’s son, rubbing Lady Catelyn’s face in her husband’s dishonor. He wasn’t going to turn into a sea monster, at least. Others take them all. Only Robb wasn’t miserable to be around. 

_ They crushed us, killed Maron and Rod, drove my mother insane, exiled me. We won nothing. It was just some Drowned Man trying to swindle us. Nothing will happen…  _

“What do you look so worried about?” Robb said through a yawn. His red curls were mussed and his chest was bare. Now six and ten, Robb was a man grown and Theon hadn’t failed to notice.  _ Even without a kraken’s curse, I’m a freak.  _

“Nothing,” Theon smiled. “Just woke from a dream of Ros.”

Robb rolled his eyes and checked the bed before he rolled out of it. “Just keep your wet dreams to yourself, Greyjoy.” 

\---------

Robb secured the taxes and left them under guard before clapping Theon on the shoulder. “There’s sun to spare before we have to set back. I heard there’s some kind of performance at the docks. Don’t drink so much you’ll fall off your horse.” 

“Worry more for yourself, the sea is no hot spring,” Theon snorted. “You’ll need me to rescue you like a helpless maid. Are there girls dancing?” 

Robb shook his head as they wove through the busy streets of White Harbor. The whole city was talking about Lord Peter Baelish’ untimely death. He was thrown from his horse down the cliffs at King’s Landing. Theon hoped he drowned; the whole Southern lot could. Robb pointed at a gathering crowd with a grin. “No, some sort of foreign game with swords. The steward wasn’t sure from where. Braavos, you think?”

“If there are no bouncing tits, we could find better entertainment,” he complained. Another young lord from the North accompanied them, as well as Jory, and they laughed with him. 

“Honor in tourneys is more fun any day,” Robb countered, peeking through the crowd. 

“Greenboy,” Lord Cerwyn’s son, Cley, cuffed Robb and laughed. They pushed through the curious fishermen and merchants selling wares. Theon froze the moment he saw their boiled leathers and axes. A man leap over an axe and threw it back to the other who grabbed it with a skilled hand. The audience whooped and clapped as the game continued. They wore no sigil, but Theon knew they were ironborn, likely returning from Essos. 

“Did you see that?” Robb said in awe, pointing at the man who nearly lost his hand but saved himself just in time. Theon paled, if they saw him, they might tell... Townsfolk gossiped like songbirds, every Island must know what happened to their Prince.  _ It’s fine, it’s fine. Robb wouldn’t talk to them anyway. Besides, an old wives’ tale, nothing more. I’m by the sea, I smell the salt, and I’m fine. _

Theon cleared his throat and plastered a grin on his face. “Aye, they’re playing the finger dance.”

“Finger dance?” Jory asked. “Don’t they play that on the Iron Islands, Lord Greyjoy?”

“ _ We  _ do. They are ironmen. They call it that because you’re like to miss a finger when you lose,” he said, wiggling his fingers in front of their eyes. “You scared, Stark?”

Robb scoffed, standing straighter. “Of what?”

Just then, the tips of three fingers sailed past and Robb ducked to the side, startled by the bloody things. The cringe was felt around the crowd as the man howled and clutched his hand to his chest. The other ironman stuck his arms in the air in victory, axe in hand. Theon chuckled at his pale face. “Poor luck, that.”

As he japed, the men headed toward them and paused in front of Greyjoy. He swallowed, aware of the kraken on his breast. He wore black velvet with gold thread. A weathered face with missing teeth asked, “You from the Islands?”

Jory stepped closer to Theon. “Aye, this is Theon of House Greyjoy, Lord Balon’s son.”

Their eyes went wide, then harsh. “You! You’re the reason we lost the Rebellion!”

It happened in slow motion before him, Jory’s drawn sword, two axe-wielding ironmen ready. Theon’s heart pounded in his throat. He was outraged, furious. “My fault?”

One stabbed his axe in Theon’s direction. “You ran from the deal with the Drowned God, stole his prize from him. That’s why my brother died by the lion’s paw.”

“Lord Greyjoy became my father’s ward after your lord failed in his rebellion. He is still your lord’s son, show him respect.”

“I can defend myself, Stark,” he snapped, face hot in embarrassment. Robb looked at him in irritation, hiding the hurt. “We were outmanned ten to one, that’s why we lost. It’s not my fault your brother couldn’t tell axe blade from handle. It’s an old fishwives’ tale!”

“Then prove it!” the wounded one snarled, grabbing his wrist and pulling the glove from his hand. The shell bracelet it wore flashed in the light. Within seconds, he had stripped it from Theon’s wrist, snapping the leather and he shook it in front of his eyes. Fear pumped through his veins and he waited with eyes squeezed shut. When moments passed and nothing happened, he opened them again, laughing like mad at the ironborn. Jory shoved them back and told them to be on their way before more trouble found them. 

“You will return Lord Greyjoy’s property,” Robb said lowly, eyes flashing in anger and confusion at Theon.

“Let them keep it, a token from their Prince,” Theon sneered, smirking wide. It was all a jape, after all. Here he was by the sea, standing like a normal man, that fucking cursed bracelet just sea trash. He didn’t need it anymore. He stepped forward to put them in their place a bit more and his boot splashed in a puddle of sea water. Theon looked down, the small ripples round his boot capturing him.

“Theon?” Robb asked, concerned. “Are you ill?”

“No,” he muttered, distracted. The water sparkled and he felt like drowning all over again. 

Suddenly Robb and Cley were pulling him back. “Theon!”

“I have to…” he started. The water was closing in over his head, filling his lungs, darkness creeping in at the edge of his vision. It felt good. He  _ belonged  _ there. 

“Stop, Theon!” Robb’s voice cut through the fog, loud in his ear. He blinked and realized they were at the edge of the dock, his arms wrenched back by Cley and Robb. They wrestled him back a few feet before they stilled. He had almost stepped right into the Bite. 

The wind whipped more fiercely in his black hair and he felt the cold spray of the water. “I’m fine. Shove off.” 

After a beat, they did, though Robb kept his hand on Theon’s shoulder, worry all over his face. “What happened?”

He shook his head. He had tried to jump into the water with his fine clothes on. He must look mad. “Nothing… just… dizzy for a moment.” 

“You ate nothing this morning,” Robb scolded. “Nothing but ale. We’re going to a tavern before Jory becomes your nursemaid.” 

“Right, right,” he dismissed, trying to shake off the feeling of something reaching for him, calling to him. He scratched his neck idly and tried to slow his heart. 

“Greyjoy,” Cley said worriedly, “what’s that at your neck?”

Robb stopped to inspect him. Panic started in the pit of his stomach. “It’s gray, your neck… and it’s spreading.”

He pawed at his neck as though he could rub it out, but he felt it, his skin turned soft and velvet, a strange slime covering him.  _ No, no, no, no this can’t be happening.  _ A stabbing pain hit his stomach and he doubled over, groaning. Something was burning in his chest.  _ My shell, where? Where did it go?  _

Theon dodged around Robb and Cley, frantically searching the crowd for the Ironborn Jory had sent away. Jory, he saw him, walking back after seeing them off. Apprehension was in Jory’s gaze, but Theon shoved his way past him, spinning anyone to face him who wore black and grey leather. The pain in his chest spread, and his stomach was getting worse, running lower. He was running  _ faster,  _ tossing grown men to the side too easily even for a trained swordsman.  _ I need it! _ he thought frantically, his visioning getting darker. 

People started to scream as he pushed passed, horror on a woman’s face.  _ Faster, faster.  _

Now they started to leap out of his way, for he bowled over others, cutting them as his fingertips tingled.

“YOU!” he shouted, his voice deep, booming. He sounded almost warbled. The ironman turned, the bracelet draped around his axe. Theon cut his hand in his clumsy grab for the shell. Black was left in its place.

“Theon!” Robb called, catching up with him, stopping short to cover his face with his arm. “The smell…”

_ No, he can’t see me like this,  _ Theon thought frantically, searching for an escape. He stumbled and it felt like all the bones just left his legs. He spun an old man between himself and Robb. The light of the sun on the water caught his eye.  _ The water.  _

He ran, shell clutched in his hand, and he leapt.

\------

It had been six months since Theon disappeared. He acted so strangely on that day at the docks and leapt into the water. Robb searched, waiting for him to come up for air, but he never did. Men dove into the water, Robb included, trying to find him, but no body was ever found. The two ironmen had made a run for it, their ship departed shortly thereafter. Spies were sent to the Iron Islands to ensure it was not some plot of escape, but none on Pyke had heard of Theon Greyjoy’s arrival. After three months of searching, Robert Baratheon declared him dead. Asha Greyjoy was to be sent to Winterfell in his place, despite that she was of age. None trusted Balon Greyjoy without a hostage.

His lord father expected a protest that their last living child was called to the North, but Asha Greyjoy had sent word herself of her arrival with a host of Ironborn. 

Robb stood waiting for her. He had lost weight, not slept well in months. It was supposed to be an easy task, collecting taxes, but instead he had lost his best friend and brother and… 

“I heard even the women fight on the Iron Islands,” Arya said, excitedly scouting the scene for sight of Lady Greyjoy. “She’s supposed to be a fearsome pirate, captain of her own ship. I bet no one tells her to wear dresses.”

“She’ll wear them here,” his lady mother said with a sigh, not that Arya ever did.  _ Fat chance of either listening. _

“Look!” Arya shouted, pointing at the horses on the horizon. The rest of the family was gathered to welcome them, and soldiers in case they intended to take some kind of revenge for the poor keep of their charge.

Surely enough, Lady Greyjoy wore no dress, but the boiled leathers the men wore. She dismounted from her horse and swankered up to the family, her face dark. “Which one of you Northerners took my brother to the sea and lost him?”

Robb looked away. Lady Stark cleared her throat and stepped forward. “We welcome you to your new home, Lady Greyjoy. We can discuss your brother in a more… private manner.”

\--------

Robb hesitated knocking on the door to Lady Greyjoy’s chambers. It was not appropriate for him to be there, but he wanted to speak with her about Theon. His mother only sighed and patted his arm.  _ He’s gone, Robb, you must move on from this. I know he was like a brother to you, but…  _

Jon was to leave for The Wall, but Robb had asked him to stay, just a little while longer, until they found out what happened to Theon. Jon looked at him with pity and shook his head,  _ a little while longer, Robb. _

Just then, the door opened and Arya ran right into him. “Oof! Robb! Why are you visiting a girl at night?”

“What are you doing in Lady Greyjoy’s room at night?” he challenged. He would not be intimidated by his little sister. 

“Not just me,” Arya said smugly. Sansa peeked out from around the door, her face bright red. 

“Go, get to bed, the both of you,” Lady Greyjoy said with a laugh. “I’ll tell you more tomorrow.” 

Baffled, Robb watched his sisters hurry off, Arya grinning over her shoulder as they went. 

“And what were you teaching my sisters, Lady Greyjoy?” Robb asked. 

“How to deal with men,” she replied. “It’s debatable if I’m a lady. What do you want, Stark? Some of my brothers things since you no longer have him? Or did you come to show me how Northerners handle Ironborn hostages?”

His face turned hot. “Our family is honorable, we would not hurt you or force you… to do what you are implying.”

“Pity.” She observed him for a moment before walking into the room. Theon’s room. Lady Greyjoy picked up a large shell that Theon had kept in a carved wooden box. “So he did keep it. It was from our mother.”

“He told me. He said you can hear the ocean in it.”

“My brother is an idiot,” she said with a sigh. “It was enchanted. He could have spoken to mother if he wished. It broke her heart he never did, when she could recall it. I thought he lost it, or had it taken by you lot.”

_ Enchanted? She’s speaking of things Old Nan would tell tale of.  _

“Do you blame us for his…” he hesitated and forced himself to say, “death?”

“Theon isn’t dead,” she said calmly. “He’s cursed.”

“Cursed?” he stumbled out. “What are you talking about?”

“Why do you think I came to the North? To be your prisoner? I’d die in battle first,” she scoffed. “Was my brother a drunkard?”

“What? No,” Robb defended. “He drank, but no more than what is healthy for a man grown.”

_ Most of the time. _

“Then a Greyjoy did not trip into the water and drown. The sea is in our veins. But for Theon… more so than most. Sit down, Stark, we have plans to make to find our wayward kraken.”  

\----------

He had a new name, now, and it matched his insides.

His new Master was very kind to him. He used to think,  _ This water has no salt, it hurts, hurts. It keeps me weak… He wants me, send me back.  _ But he could no longer remember who wanted him back, someone from before his nature called him to the sea. Back then, he was never allowed to show his true face, because he was too wild and disrespectful. He would gnash at Lord Ramsay and try to cut him open. So Lord Ramsay made him wear his human face, and showed him how he was going to peel it away, bit by bit. Once he had accepted his new name, Master freed him from his human costume and let his true face show. Only Lord Ramsay could bear being near him to give him food or treat his wounds. It was so good of Master to look upon his real face, with grey skin and black tentacles that reached for Lord Ramsay, always reaching. Respectful. Obedient. Reverent. 

Lord Ramsay knew the Drowned God, who made him this way, and had been charged to look after him once men rejected him. He said it so it was true. “You’re a freak, my sweet Reek, a true worm in human skin. Poor Robb Stark might never be the same after what he saw in you. They don’t want you even a little bit. Well… perhaps as a skin for a man’s wall.”

He did not know why that name hurt so much. Master showed him how repulsive his face was and stopped his boys from beating Reek to death. When Lord Ramsay found Reek naked in his human costume, he was dying from the cold. He had swam so far, called to go deeper and deeper into the sea, but some other part of him pulled back toward land, fighting against the urge. He had gotten so tired, he swam up a river, hoping his bracelet would clear his head. 

Reek opened his squirming mouth and lifted his odd shaped tongue. He knew to say, “Yes, milord, you protect me.”

“And that’s why I have to hurt you,” he said, talking to him like his hounds. Reek could not be a dog, though, even they could not stand the sight of him. Lord Ramsay had a pool built, just deep enough for him to float in a small circle. He lived in the dungeon so people would be safe from his smell. Sometimes Master was too busy to feed him, but he was a good pet and never complained. He lost fingers for that lesson. He wanted to be good, even though he was a monster.

“Yes, milord,” he recited, in his deep, warbling voice. It sounded so quiet now. “To free me from thinking I’m a man.”

“That’s right,” Ramsay said affectionately, letting Reek’s tentacle beard curl around his fingers, searching for his warmth, for his touch. Reek’s tentacles were so sensitive, like many hands. Master had cut off some of them and sometimes he felt them wriggling their ghost ends. “You’re no man, you’re just my creature. You belong here.”

“I belong here,” he repeated, eye level with Lord Ramsay’s tented breeches. Reek poked the gaps between his sharp teeth. He looked up at his Master with his large, gold eyes. He was so grateful someone wanted him. “Let me serve you, milord.”

Lord Ramsay tugged at his laces. “How could I deny you that, pet?”

\------------------

“When I told you to find a new Reek,” Lord Bolton told him brusquely, “I did not mean for you to take a highborn lord and turn him into your plaything.”

“Isn’t that why you had me curse him to begin with?” Ramsay drawled, stabbing at his meat and filling his mouth. Red meat was nothing compared to seafare as of late. “Your natural son returned from Asshai.”

“And not a day older than when I sent him,” Roose noted. 

Ramsay gave him a long look and smiled. “We Boltons age well.”

“You’re not a Bolton yet, bastard,” his father reminded him, ignoring him, ignoring that Ramsay could stick in a blade in his heart at any moment. His nails dug into his palm and he would need his Reek to release him from this rage. “Greyjoy failed in his Rebellion, and instead of getting the boy then, you lost him.”

“The shell needs its time to grow, to feed off their failures and dark moods,” Ramsay reminded his father. “And I have him now. It’s being... well fed.”

“Yes, but if they had won the rebellion, the victory would have created boundless power in that shell, a jewel the Iron Bank would turn over Essos for, and we would be ruling Westeros. Now we wait, and hope this little pet of yours creates something of use.”

“Joy and victory create a more lustrous fire to stir a heart gem than a family’s sins,” Ramsay pointed out. The pressure, the heat, the victory turn a heart hard, strong and pure. Only when a life is insufferable enough will a heart turn poisonous and weak, destined to bring ruin where it’s sent. Ramsay preferred this way, crafting his perfect little pet, but his father had demanded something cleaner to start. They could rid themselves of the Baratheons, Lannisters and Starks and take House Bolton’s proper place in the world. 

Balon Greyjoy was prideful and selfish, he just needed a push in the right direction. A promise of victory for his son’s soul was an easy price. Baelish was supposed to have arranged an accident of wildfire to sack the city, but his loyalties changed. He had quipped to his father that a new way had come to him in a vision, a longer, more exciting game. One Ramsay ensured he would never have the chance to play after his betrayal. “Don’t worry, father, Reek will be of plenty use when his heart is ready. I’ll cut it out and poison the whole tree, down to the root. That’s what makes it worth the wait; you poison one, you poison them all.”

“Do it, and you’ll be a true Bolton,” his father promised. Ramsay grinned. 

\----------------

Robb had not expected his father to permit he, Lady Greyjoy and Jon to seek any truth in the story of Theon’s curse, but Lady Greyjoy had shown him that the conch shells were indeed enchanted. Lady Greyjoy produced her own and from separate sides of the castle, they spoke as if standing next to each other. 

_ “What did this man who cursed Theon look like?” Eddard Stark asked her.  _

_ Asha Greyjoy considered. “I was but a child then… I recall his eyes were cruel. Dirty grey, like the approach of a storm. He wore blood red rubies in his ear. The way he looked at my brother…”  _

Something about the description of the man had changed his lord father’s mind. He sent them back to White Harbor to look for clues. 

“You’re telling me the damn shell bracelet he wore was a… protective charm?” Jon asked, skeptical and brooding. Robb suspected he’d rather be at The Wall, leading rangers into the wild North.

“Something of the sort, Lord Snow,” Asha replied, scouting the docks where Theon was last seen. “If he did not wear it, he would turn into a creature of the likes you’ve never seen. We found him on the beach after the tide pulled back. He was half boy, half kraken. His skin was grey and black and the smell of him would make a horse drop. Instead of legs, he had the arms of a squid. He was not conscious at the time, so our mother wrapped it around his wrist and back he turned, puking up sea water and black ink.”

“No wonder he’s such an ass,” Jon muttered and Asha laughed. 

“Help me find my brother and I will tell you stories of his boyhood that will shut him up for weeks.”

“That’s what happened…” Robb said, partly to himself. “The ironborn man accused him of causing the Rebellion to fail and tore it off his wrist. He panicked.” 

“You never should have taken him to the sea,” Asha scowled, suddenly serious again. “It was part of the agreement. We were warned that once he turned seven and ten, he would not be able to resist the call of the Drowned God. Your father knew better.”

“You mean to tell us our father knew Greyjoy was cursed?” Jon asked, armed crossed. 

“My mother told Lord Stark of his curse, seeking to keep him safe from the Drowned God and Robert’s sword alike, but my mother… I do not know what your father believed.”

Lady Greyjoy leaned over the docks and looked left and right. “But I don’t believe for a moment the Drowned God was that who cursed my brother. It it were so, he’d be in the watery halls, far from us.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Robb wondered, fists clenching. “We told each other everything.”

“You wouldn’t believe him if he did, Stark,” Jon commented, a sort of understanding regarding Theon Robb hadn’t seen before. A shameful secret. Robb shifted uncomfortably, knowing Jon still knew not who his mother was. “It sounds like madness. No one would. You’d think it a jape.”

“I suppose you’re right… Do you think whoever cursed him has him?” Robb asked, happy to change the subject. He wished it were otherwise, but Jon was right. Theon japed about everything and never spoke of anything that might hurt him.

“To the North, Ramsgate, The Dreadfort, and The Karhold. To the South, The Three Sisters, The Fingers, The Vale,” Asha pointed as she spoke. “I doubt he swam the Narrow Sea. The Neck, maybe.”

“That’s too much ground to cover,” Jon countered. “We’ll never find him this way.” 

“Jon’s right. Every House in the North knew Theon was missing and was to return him if they saw him. Jon Arryn’s family holds the Vale, the same would be true there.” 

“But your father knew the man…” Asha muttered. “Why send us to White Harbor if he knew of the man I spoke. What is your father doing while we chase our tails?”

\--------

“Lord Stark,” Roose Bolton greeted impassively. “What brings you to The Dreadfort?”

Bolton did not like the way Stark appraised him. It was the Starks who outlawed the practice of flaying and the ones Roose would mind ridding himself of the least. Ned Stark and his brood stood in the way for a thousand years. Who knew the Tully woman would be so fertile? 

“I have come to see if rumors are true, that your bastard returned from Asshai some years ago,” Ned Stark declared.

He gave a tight lipped smile to the Warden of the North. “I’m afraid he never made it past Volantis. Not all bastards are as honorable as your Jon Snow.”

“I would like to question him myself.”

Roose swept his hand toward his halls. “Of course, Lord Stark. You are always welcome in the Dreadfort. I’m afraid Ramsay is out hunting, but he will return before end of day. Sup with us, won’t you? You can tell me why my bastard son’s travels are of importance to the Warden of the North.”

\---------

Lord Ramsay had him whipped for spilling his wine, but it was hard to carry in his hands. The Master had removed his nails to avoid the sting of his claws and his fingertips were weeping and sore. He had only taken two fingers so far, and that was a kindness he must remember. Reek served his Master in his man costume from time to time. He still stank, but it was different from the eye-watering rot that came from his grey skin. This was just shit and piss, sex and other human grime. It amused his lordship that he stank no matter what he did.

It was growing harder to pass as a man. Each moment he was out of the water, his skin itched for it. His body craved to spread out and curl and twist. He twitched and shook more, but that may be the sting of the rags on his bleeding back. Damon told him to go back to his oversized chamberpot before he vomited at the smell of him, sparing him three whole lashes. “T-thank you.” 

Reek hobbled through the hallway toward the dungeons alone, trying to focus on the cracks in the stones to distract from the pain. He was showing Master how loyal he could be, so he only wore fetters and chains, but no guards.  _ I want to be good. Loyal. If I serve him, he’ll look after me. Elsewise he’ll go away and leave me in the dark. Even monsters can go mad in the dark… _

But Reek stopped short when he heard a familiar voice. A man’s voice. A man from  _ before.  _ He knew he shouldn’t, but Reek leaned around the corner to catch a glimpse of him. Lord Bolton was there, but so was another man, dressed in fine fur and leather…

_ This will be your new home, Theon.  _

He yelped as a hand clamped down on his bony shoulder. Skinner… “What are you doing stinking up the halls, Reek?”

“T-to my pool, that’s all,” he stuttered. “Going there… until his lordship has need of me. I’ll be good.”   


_ Please please please don’t tell, don’t tell that I looked at someone from Before. They don’t want me, they’re scared of me. Only Lord Ramsay wants me.  _

Skinner scoffed. “You’re never good, Reek, that’s why you’re funny. Get your freak legs down there or I’ll make boots of you.”

_ Not without his lordship’s say,  _ Reek thought, but did as he was bidden, trying to forget who he saw in the hallway and that his name was Eddard Stark. 

\----------

When they returned to Winterfell, his mother was already at the gates, worry in her eyes. Robb dismounted immediately. “What is it?”

“Your father,” Lady Catelyn sighed. “He’s taken ill.”

The three exchanged nervous glances before they made their way to see Lord Stark. Robb pushed open the heavy wooden door to his great chambers and saw him buried under many furs. Maester Luwin replaced a cool, damp cloth at his forehead. Robb swallowed down his fear. His father rarely took to sickness and when he did, forbade the children from seeing him in his weakened state. That his mother let him in…

Pale and wet with sweat, his father struggled to remain awake. Jon followed him in and Robb ignored the hitch he heard in his brother’s breath. “Father, what happened? You were fit as a direwolf when we left.”

Grey Wind slipped past Robb’s legs and jumped on the bed to lay at Lord Stark’s feet, a small whine from his throat. 

“You must be short in your words, my lords,” Luwin said gently before he stood to depart. “I will return with something for the fever shortly, Lord Stark.”

“Thank you, Luwin,” Eddard rasped. “It will pass, worry yourself with other concerns.”

“You went somewhere,” Jon pressed, wasting little time once the Maester had gone. “Didn’t you? While you sent us to the shore.”

Their father merely glanced away.

“You knew the whole time that Theon was cursed,” Robb added. “Please, father, we’re men grown. Let us help. Who has done this to you?”

Their father appeared to consider as he struggled for air. This was no simple illness. He had never seen his father look so close to the grave. “Aye, I heard a rumor of a superstitious people. Theon’s mother was… beside herself with grief.”

Theon had only mentioned once that his mother was ill. Robb took a calming breath. His father could not rule Winterfell like this. He would need to take over duties while his father rested. “Father, you are too ill to act as Warden. Let me take over your duties. Tell me where you traveled last.”

Their father, though, had already taken to sleep. He look at Jon and saw his brow furrowed in thought and concern. 

“He went to the Dreadfort,” a small voice said. They turned and saw Sansa peeking around the corner. 

“Were you listening in, Sansa?” Robb chided. 

She blushed a deep red. “I was only passing by on my way to sewing… But I heard that he took his horse to visit Lord Bolton. When he came back, he was so sick he could hardly ride.”

\----------

“You did very well, Reek,” his Master praised, hand dancing through the clean water now in his pool. This was the first time in months his water was changed, his pool scrubbed clean. Reek was so grateful he thought he might die.

“Well, milord?” he asked dumbly, spreading his arms in the clean water, sinking down low so only his head was above the water line. It no longer caused odd boils on his skin and the only smell was his own rot. The arms of his hair and beard curled around Lord Ramsay’s hand, so thankful for the gift but not understanding what he could have done to deserve it. 

“Yes, Reek,” he spoke in his slow voice, the one he used with Reek for he often did not understand things. “That strange lord came to visit. He wanted to hunt you and skin you for scaring his son so.”

Reek stared with open mouth and wide eyes. Did Lord Stark want to kill him? He remembered a great sword, a terrifying sword that haunted his dreams. Lord Stark was noble and kind, though distant. Did he hurt Robb that deeply? 

“But you bled so well for me, didn’t you?”

He did bleed well for his lordship. He had come to him in his pool and carved a deep X into his chest over his heart. His blood ran black into a cup. “Y-yes, milord, I bled for you.” 

Lord Ramsay ran his fingers through the tentacles on his head and Reek leaned into his touch. Good Reek. Loyal Reek. “Now that Lord won’t bother you ever again.”

“M-milord?” he asked, confused. 

“Oh, slow Reek,” Lord Ramsay chided and cuffed him on the head roughly. “Your blood is poison at the touch. You’re not quite ready yet, but you’ve soured enough for a slow death to one insignificant wolf.” 

“B-but, I…”  _ I don’t want to hurt them. _ “I… I killed him?”

“Of course, Reek,” his lordship said with a smile full of white teeth, like he remembered from his dreams when he was young. “My lowly creature, it’s the only thing you’re good for now.”

He began to shake and sob, black ink falling from his eyes and clouding the water.  _ Robb _ . He killed Robb’s father. He killed the only person who was ever like a father to him. If Robb didn’t want him dead before, he would now. Maybe it’s better that way. Why, why did he have to remember?

His Master only smiled.

\-----------------

“You can’t march on the Dreadfort, you have no proof of anything,” Jon hollered after him, but Robb didn’t care. He had met Roose Bolton once before, and recalled his eyes match the description Lady Greyjoy had given. He was supposed to have a bastard, as well, though Robb had never met him. 

“What’s going on?” Lady Greyjoy called after them as they stormed by. 

“I’m going to find answers. No more secret dealings and avoided truths,” Robb spat as the stable boy ran to fetch his horse. “If they poisoned my father, if they have Theon, I’ll find out.”

“With what plan, boy?” Asha demanded, feet planted firm. Jon looked at him expectantly.

“I’m not your boy, Greyjoy,” he said lowly. “And I’ll figure it out on the way.” 

“I’m going with you,” Jon said. 

“No, you have to stay here and look after father,” Robb said with the shake of his head. Jon opened his mouth to protest, but Asha beat him to it. 

“If it’s Starks they’re after, you’re a fool to go alone, just like your father was.”

His blood flared at her words and he scowled at her.

“She’s right, and you know it. If something happens to you…” Jon started and could not finish such a thought.

Robb clenched his fists. “Then what do you suggest?”

Asha wrapped a long arm around Jon’s shoulders and squeezed him close, his face startled and annoyed before turning a deep shade of pink. “Brooding Jon and I will handle this. The ironborn way.” 

\--------------

His cheek tore at the stones beneath him and his blood trickled onto the floor next him, but he felt numb.  _ This is what I deserve. _

Lord Ramsay thrust once more into his Reek before spilling his seed. He leaned down and bit open Reek’s shoulder. His poisonous blood did not seem to bother his lordship; it only excited him. As his Master tucked himself back into his breeches, he started in on his wine. 

Reek obediently removed his bracelet and presented it to Lord Ramsay. He could already start to feel the sickening crunch and twist of bone. He patted Reek’s cheek and took his bracelet back. “Back to your pool, Reek. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

Reek wordlessly slipped into the water, trying not to scream at the pain. It was harder to stay in costume. His body craved water more each day, and every time Lord Ramsay punished him with a cell dry with straw, he would tear open his hands trying to escape. Damon split his back open for the offense, and for refusing food when offered.  _ Let me die, let me die, drown me in the sea, the sea, the sea.  _

His thoughts grew darker with each day and he sank to the bottom of his pool, letting the water take him, hold him. So much safer in the water, so comforting. He longed for the sea. He longed to see Robb again, apologize for his betrayal, and let Robb skin him. If Robb held the flaying knife, he may welcome it. He did this to himself,  _ what a fool, an idiot child to accept.  _

A rock fell into his pool and the water vibrated. Reek peeked his head out from the water, the holes in his head filled with sounds of metal on metal, men grunting and screaming. Trembling, he pressed himself flat against the bottom of the pool, hugging the edge in terror.  _ Pass me by, they won’t see me under the water in the dark. Pass me by, pass me by, or kill me quick. The stench will stop them. _

Suddenly hands were in his water, gripping him around his narrow shoulders, pulling him from the pool. He screamed, “No! No! You can’t!”

“Theon!” a woman’s voice called, before he heard her retch. The fire blinded him and his arms covered his face as he tried to crawl away, long limbs gripping and pulling him back toward his water. He could barely move on land in his sorry state, weak from lack of salt and food and blood. But the heat of the fire scared him.  _ That name  _ scared him. 

“Reek!” he cried pitifully. The hands were back, there was more than one. The woman, her hair short and black, another was a man, he thought, but could not see. He wrenched his head to look at these invaders. They wore ironmen garb and Reek wondered if they came to kill him.  _ I should let them… but Lord Ramsay, he will be angry. He might… he might… _

“Theon!” a man this time, more a boy. His hair was long and curled and black. He held Theon under his shoulders while the woman fumbled with his slippery arms. Jon Snow…? “We’re here to help you, you ass, stop struggling!”

“He’s right to struggle, he knows where he belongs. Don’t you, Reek?” 

“Yes, Master,” he replied automatically, not thinking. 

“I’m taking my brother,” the woman said. Reek looked at her closely, her thin face and sharp nose.  _ Asha…?  _ He… the other… he had a sister once, didn’t he? She dropped him and took up her axe. Reek screamed at the sight of it, squirming harder against Snow. “Stand aside if you wish to live.”

Though he could not see him, he knew his Master’s smile. “What a pleasant evening.”

\---------

They couldn’t stop running. Though they had made it back to the horses, the hail of arrows spooked them and they ran or died. A handful of ironborn had made it out of the Dreadfort. Jon Snow and another man dragged a limp Theon between them, panting and trying not to vomit at the smell.

“We have to make it back to Winterfell,” Jon said nodding in the right direction. Maybe passing through a creek would throw off the dogs. In the distance, he saw torchlight. Jon stumbled, a sudden rush to his head causing him dizziness. The other man holding Theon stopped moving to throw up. 

“Hold your damn stomachs, it’s no worse than a sack of dead fish!” Asha growled, pulling her man up.

“It’s not that…” Jon muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. He caught sight of a black liquid covering his gloved hand. “What is--?”

“Fucking Drowned God,” Asha swore, snatching his hand in the growing morning light. “His blood is turning to poison.” 

From somewhere behind them, the hounds howled. 

\---------

Robb could not focus on the smallfolk’s requests despite his best efforts. His mother nudged him urgently and he focused again on answering a matter of grain. 

_ They should be back by now,  _ Robb thought. The raid was to take place two nights ago. He had heard no word, nor seen sign of the ironborn who left with Asha Greyjoy.  _ Jon, what did I get you into? _

“How is my father, Luwin?” he asked as the next group was sent into the Great Hall. 

“He grows worse with each day, my lord,” the old man said with a sigh. “I know not what sickness or poison took him, but it is not one I can heal.”

“That isn’t good enough.”

“I will keep trying, my lord, have patience and comfort him as you can.”

The crowd grew ever more taxing and he dug his fingernails into his fists to distract himself. The doors burst open then, someone starting to push through the crowd. It was Arya. 

“Arya!” his mother said sharply. “This is importance business you’re interrupting!”

Grunting as she shoved past the guards, she said, “This is more important!”

“Father, is it--” Robb started when Arya suddenly shoved a white something into the air. It was the conch shell Theon kept in his room. 

“STARK! Stark! Get your Northern ass on the fucking shell!” an angry, feminine voice hollered.

\------

“My name is Reek,” he said cowering into the snow, out of the blanket they through over him that stuck to his skin and tore it. He slithered deeper, freezing to death but so thirsty for water. They were on the edge of a frozen creek, but they did not let him wet himself.  _ Water, water, water.  _

“Your name is Theon Greyjoy,” Asha said sternly. “You’re my idiot little brother.”

“Not Theon,” he chattered out through the cold. “Reek, Reek. It rhymes with freak.”

“What d’you think was done to him?” Jon Snow asked, pale and barely conscious. He shivered in his furs, leaning against a tree. The ironborn killer fared little better. “He’s gone mad.”

His words bothered Reek little. He just accepted his true nature, a freakish creature that belonged to Lord Ramsay, who loved him, who they took him from. He killed Jon’s father, why wasn’t he angrier?  _ Jon should kill me. Why haven’t they? Master will find us soon… he won’t stop. They don’t know.  _

“Please leave me,” he said meekly, his voice warbling more than usual. “Lord Ramsay wants his Reek. He’ll kill you.”

“You’re more like to kill me before he does, Greyjoy,” Jon said bitterly with eyes closed. “Ass.”

His chest squeezed and he realized what happened. His blood, it was getting stronger. He never liked Snow much, but he did not want him dead. Reek began to cry, ink rolling down his cheeks. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Jon muttered, “Definitely mad.” 

Just then, an arrow whirred by Asha’s face. She ducked down, axe already in hand. The three healthy remaining ironborn drew their swords, but it was too late. They appeared in every direction, men on horses, the Bastard’s Boys and Lord Ramsay himself. With an amused smile, Lord Ramsay let himself down from his favorite steed. 

“A valiant effort, I grant you that,” he said. He nudged Jon with his boot and Reek knew had Jon Snow not been so weak, he would have attacked at the insult. “And who are you? You’re no ironborn savage.”

“Someone who will shove a sword in your chest,” Jon growled. 

“I so look forward to introducing you to my hounds, but after we play a bit. If you live that long.”

An ironman attacked suddenly and the three were struck down. Asha roared as she rushed Lord Ramsay, but Sour Alyn and Grunt were there first. She took an arm from Alyn before they had her wrestled to her knees. Lord Ramsay only laughed.

“M-Master,” Reek squeaked, trying to find something like courage. “Milord… I… I didn’t want to go with them. L-let them go, please.” 

A dark look crossed his eye and Reek froze in terror. He knew that look. He was in trouble. He cried despite himself. “Please, milord, please let me be your Reek and they can go.” 

“Reek,” the voice was dangerous. “Are you questioning me?”

“No! No! No, milord,” he stuttered. “Just… just…”

His many arms covered his head as Lord Ramsay lost his temper and kicked him mercilessly. He took another one of Reek’s wriggling arms with a falchion in hand. He could hear Jon yelling at his lordship to stop.

A horn blew then and everyone turned to look as fifty men on horses broke through the tree line, the grey and white Stark banner flying in the wind, two snarling wolves at the front. At their lead, Robb Stark dressed in armor. 

_ Robb… _

_ \------------- _

Ramsay fell to his knees before the Stark heir, a wide smile on his face despite his men who lay dead or chained behind him. “Lord Stark. How  _ is  _ your father doing?”

“If you wish to keep your head, Snow, you will tell me how you poisoned my father and brother,” the Stark brat growled at him like a bumbling beast. 

“You are mistaken, my lord,” Ramsay said innocently, “I poisoned no one. Reek did.”

“Reek?” Robb asked in confusion. He had not yet seen what had become of his father’s ward, the arrogant highborn lord who spilled all his secrets and blood for him. Reek was so nearly perfect, too. 

Ramsay jerked his head toward the Maester’s makeshift tent, where his Reek was being held. 

Robb Stark nodded to his men who quickly carried Reek out to them. His stupid, little pet cowered before Stark, unable to look him in the eye.  _ I trained him so well.  _

“Theon?” Robb asked, aghast. There was nothing like seeing a highborn shit look on in horror at his meticulous work. “Theon, what happened to you?”

Reek opened and closed his mouth, flattened against the ground. “You… you should kill me.”

“Theon…”

“I… I killed your father. I poisoned him,” he said with a shudder. It warmed Ramsay’s heart. Surely his father would be along shortly to clear up this matter and murder the Stark brat. He just needed his hands free… and all would be well again. 

“Father isn’t dead, Theon,” Robb said with a pause, pained. “He’s very ill. You couldn’t have… why?”

“He’s not dead…” Reek muttered to himself, eyes wide. 

Ramsay chimed in, “It’s his nature. His heart has turned to ink and poisons anything it touches. More so, it will kill all who share the bloodline of those poisoned. Soon enough, anyway.”

The little shit looked appropriately afraid. Their bastard was poisoned by Reek; the whole Stark tree was poisoned now to the root. It would be slow, for Reek could have used a few more good lessons to ripen his blood, but it would kill them all. 

“I only tried to protect you from him, Lord Stark,” Ramsay said. “I had no idea the man with the ironborn was your dear half-brother.”

“I’ll hear no more from your false tongue, bastard. You’re to be held accountable for your deeds against Lord Greyjoy and my family alike.” 

“If you kill me, you’ll never save your family. Only I know the cure.”

Reek inched forward suddenly, his black arms reaching out to Robb Stark’s boots, curling around them. Ramsay laughed as Robb stepped back, fearful of touching him. Reek recoiled, but lifted himself from the snow. “He’s not dead? Lord Eddard?”

“No, Theon. Why, why would you poison him?”

“I… I… I’m sorry,” he stuttered. Reek looked at Ramsay then and quickly away, falling silent. 

“He didn’t mean to,” Asha Greyjoy said, elbowing her way through the guards. “It’s part of the curse. We were warned, many years ago, that his heart would turn dark and others around him would die. It’s his blood that’s poison.” 

“Lady Greyjoy,” Robb addressed. “Is this the man that cursed your brother?”

“The man that cursed my brother was dressed in rags and seaweed, dense beard and hair. But I remember those eyes. I think so.” 

“I would have been but a boy then, like Lord Greyjoy himself,” Ramsay added helpfully. 

“You… you lied,” Reek said quietly, standing as high as his strength would let him. “Lord Eddard is alive…” 

“Reek,” Ramsay warned, his temper slipping through at his pet’s insolence. He had beaten that out of him ages ago, it was not a good look on his squidling. 

“K...kill me,” Reek uttered, a little louder. “Kill me.”

His blood began to boil hot and he struggled against his bonds. “No one kills you, Reek!”

“It’s a curse. If you kill me, you might be able to break it,” his voice was a little stronger this time, warbled and deep in his watery way. He sounded better screaming.

“That’s… that’s why he wants me, forever. To make sure you’re all dead. He needs me alive.” 

“Look at me, you filthy creature,” Ramsay snarled, but Reek only reached toward Stark again, close but not touching. 

“You have to kill me, Robb, to save your family.”

\-----------

Robb led him to the water and a calm came over Reek that he had never felt before. He would be free soon. No more pain, no more ruining everything. He didn’t have to pretend to be a man anymore. He had to beg Robb, tell him how he could no longer stand to live this way, that his family was more important. It had been hours long, but Robb conceded when he saw Jon near death.

Reek jumped when Robb knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. He had let no one come with them. He demanded only he would see this. “Is that really you, Theon?”

“Reek,” he said quickly before he took a breath. But he remembered now, and his Master had lied to him. He didn’t love Reek. He was the man who made him so. Did he know it all along? The smile from his dreams was always Ramsay’s smile. “Theon. I’m Theon.”

“Why did you run? Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

He could not stop the tears, but he had no pride left to save in front of Robb. Not Robb. Perfect Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell, always noble and true. “I’m a monster. No one wants a monster for a friend. They’re beheaded for knighthood.” 

“I want you, Theon,” Robb breathed. “Always and forever. You’re my brother, you’re…”

Despite his shaking hands, Robb pulled him close, hugging his malformed body against his own. The sobs did not stop as he returned the embrace. He felt the brush of Robb’s lips against his own and he felt boneless in his hands. 

“Robb...” 

As he moved away, his eyes heavy and wet, Robb only nodded. “I know.”

He draped an arm over Robb’s shoulder, his wounds now carefully bandaged. Robb helped him splash into the water. Theon could not drown in this form, so beheading it was. An honorable way to go. 

The ice froze him to the core, but the water felt like  _ home.  _

Robb cleared his throat and drew his sword. “Do… do you have any last words?”

Theon shook his head and Robb brought the sword to hover above his neck. 

“I loved you like a brother and more,” Robb said quietly as he raised his sword. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” Theon said, and the sword swang down. 

\--------------

He thought his heart stopped cold the moment he brought his sword down on Theon’s neck. Something stopped him and coming back to himself, he saw a long tentacle wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Robb tried to free himself, but he could not. They were strong and he thought the bones in his hands would be crushed. “Theon! Stop!”

But when Robb caught sight of Theon’s eyes, they were not the gold of this monstrous form. They were black and shining. Theon then stood to the full height of his tentacles, seeming to grow, fill out and tower over Robb. The arm lifted him easily from his feet and he screamed in pain.

“You are not one of mine,” Theon said, his voice deep and dark and ominous. Suddenly Robb was lifted by a number of sticky arms gripping him tight. He was held high in the air as Theon glided on a flow of water that came from nowhere. The whole creek had flooded now, water trailing in and leading them back to the others. It seemed to follow where Theon went. After a few minutes, he found himself with feet planted on the ground. 

“Who are you?” Robb asked hesitantly. The creature chuckled and carried on, paying Robb no mind. He followed, mouth agape.

“So you changed your mind,” the Bolton bastard said with amusement as they returned to the others. “Or did Reek realize where he really belongs?”

“There you are Ramsay Snow,” Theon said with a chill that ran through them all. Asha Greyjoy’s eyes went wide and she quickly took a knee. Though he did not look at her, a slender tentacle reached out and caressed her face. “My child, you did well for me. Your men dine in my halls as we speak.”

“No one move,” Robb said quickly, holding his hands to calm the soldiers. 

“You… you’re real,” Snow stuttered. 

“You stole from me, boy, took my shells and cursed them with your paltry magic from the Shadowlands. Did you think R’hllor stood with you? The old gods? The Seven? Now you’ll come to my halls.”

With speed Robb had never seen before, the Drowned God wrapped his long arms around Ramsay Snow and dragged him away with a strangled scream. A stillness fell over them. The water, the god, the bastard, they were gone. Finding himself again, he stumbled after the marks in the snow left by the flooding water. Robb found himself at the bank of the creek, it’s levels still too high. Two bodies floated there. 

“Theon!” he yelled, heart racing. He jumped into the water, pulling the naked body from the ice. The other, the bastard of Bolton, he let float for another to fish out. Robb tore off his furs and laid them on the snow, placing Theon down. Human, thank the gods, he was human again.

He was turning blue, his body far too thin, scars of the likes Robb had never seen before, more gruesome than even those his father bore. His black hair had turned bone white. But he did not move. 

_ The ironborn don’t fear drowning, Stark. How else would we get to the glorious halls of The Drowned God? That aside, we know a way to bring a man back from death.  _

Carefully, uncertain, he tilted Theon’s head back and breathed into his mouth, his lips like the ice itself. Desperately, he pressed on Theon’s chest.  _ I might break him, but he’s dead if I don’t.  _

He barely noticed them drag Ramsay Snow from the water. He saw Jon fall into the snow next him, his pallor gone. And finally, finally, he heard a choking, gurgling sound and Theon spat water. 

\---------------

Theon shuddered under the many blankets of his old room in Winterfell. The Maester had tended to him, tried to hide his shock. Luwin knew things about him… about what Ramsay did to him that no other had known. Theon wanted to die and asked Luwin to let him. The old man patted his hand. “You have never been as hard as you would like them to think you are, Theon Greyjoy, but only the strongest of men could survive what you have. Robb Stark will not reject you now anymore than he did when you were a boy.”

_ He will when he knows what I did for Ramsay, the way I…  _ Theon swallowed. He was dead. Lord Ramsay was dead. His name was  _ Theon.  _ The Drowned God had shown him everything, how Ramsay had gone to Asshai to learn blood magic. He had heard of a talisman said to be of the Drowned God himself, that could turn into the brightest jewel in the land or the darkest poison known. Ramsay had tricked Theon’s father, plotted with those in King’s Landing to steal the throne. It was his mother who had him borne away to try to protect him from Ramsay’s curse. If the sea would turn him dark, then far from the sea he had to be. Lord Eddard knew this, too, had tried to keep him safe, but as time passed and news of his mother’s illness spread… he could not blame Lord Stark for finding it a mad woman’s fancy. The Drowned God knew of his plight the moment he touched the waters again and sought revenge on Lord Ramsay. He would free Theon of the curse and leave him to drown.  _ What is dead may never die,  _ The Drowned God said. Theon replied,  _ but rises again, harder and stronger.  _

If Robb had not found him and gave him the Kiss of Life… he too would be in the watery halls.

“What will happen to Lord Bolton?” Theon asked weakly. Asha came for him. His sister, with her knobby knees and pimply face, was more an heir to the Islands than he could ever be… but she came for him. Lord Stark, Jon… they had recovered.

Asha shrugged. “Sent to the Wall if he’s lucky. Beheaded by Lord Stark, more likely. You haven’t talked to him yet, have you, little brother?”

He shook his head and looked away. He could hardly stand to be around others at all, but Asha insisted and he cried like a stupid little boy in front of her and told her everything. She kissed his forehead and told him he was still a Greyjoy and the only idiot brother she had left. 

“What happened to the bastard?” Asha asked him. Theon didn't answer and Asha did not force him. 

_ He will serve me as you served him. We will see each other again, Theon of House Greyjoy, in my halls.  _

The door to his room opened and Robb came in, looking sheepish and back into his usual clothes. Asha stood and looked him over. “A pity, you wore armor well, Stark.” 

A blush creeped across his cheeks as his sister left. Panic started to creep in Theon and he wanted to throw himself at Robb’s feet and beg forgiveness, but he was not Reek.  _ I’m Theon Greyjoy. You have to remember your name. Theon. _

“You look…” Robb started and considered. “You look like shit.” 

Theon snorted, wriggling further under the furs. Mayhaps they could drowned him and spare him this conversation. He felt Robb’s weight on the bed, the warmth of his fingers as he took Theon’s hand into his own. His blue eyes were so intense, Theon could not move. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

“Robb…” Theon started, his heart speeding, uncertain. 

He wasted no words and Robb leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his lips. “Or I’ll hunt the seas for you until I find you again.” 

His fears receded like the tide. Theon reached for him, with his bandaged hands, his now so human hands, not a costume anymore, but  _ his hands,  _ and tangled them in Robb’s hair, kissing him hard and hungry. 

“Never. This is my home.”


End file.
